


Heartbeat

by WitchTiara



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Apologies, Confessions, Invasion of Privacy, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:21:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21838870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchTiara/pseuds/WitchTiara
Summary: Aziraphale has a rather serious problem and concocts a solution that utterly fails to make it any better.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 70





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An apology and parting gift, of sorts. I won't be back. 
> 
> One section is taken from another, much different version of this fic. It's rather badly incorporated, but I liked it far too much.

Aziraphale wants a demon. 

Aziraphale cannot have a demon. 

Aziraphale wants, and can have, a long list of pleasures. He wants, but cannot have, one thing only. It is a thing with long red hair and distracting yellow eyes and the most lenient spine Aziraphale has ever seen. A thing with a lead foot and swaying hips and an undone collar that makes Aziraphale want to unbutton a few more buttons. 

Aziraphale has learned a lot from millennia with the humans about the peculiarities of sin, about what happens to you when you want, the way that desire takes root and begins to control all that you do. He is happy to surround himself with things that are humble and modest, things that stop at pleasant and do not spread kudzu-like to the point of extravagant.

But then Crowley buys lunch. Crowley always buys lunch. 

It's not any sort of incredible burden for Crowley, if Aziraphale gets something extravagant or something simple. The angel's options are absolutely whatever's on the menu. There's not a single choice he could make, that would make the demon gawk and try to talk the angel down to a less expensive, or less sugary, or less fatty option. 

Crowley buys lunch, and is not remotely put off by Aziraphale ordering the most expensive thing on the menu. Technically speaking, Crowley could go either way. But Aziraphale knows, despite Crowley's lack of objections, that the demon does still have a preference. Crowley definitely _likes_ for Aziraphale to get the most gluttonous option. 

Aziraphale does not try to live like a king most of the time. He usually controls himself. Something about the Serpent of Eden makes him want to throw all that out and eat everything he knows he shouldn't. 

Aziraphale would do well to forget Crowley as much as possible, when he's not around. 

(Aziraphale would do well to think of Crowley as little as possible, when he's not around. Is that different?) 

Not everything about Crowley is forbidden. But Aziraphale cannot _have_ Crowley, because the 'having' which Aziraphale has in mind is sex. 

Aziraphale has it in mind quite a lot. Too, too much. 

Aziraphale needs to forget about forbidden fruit, appealing though it is. Aziraphale needs to focus on the good fruit, the sweet fruit, the angelic fruit that he knows God will approve of him eating. 

Which is to say that Aziraphale tries writing angel-on-angel porn. 

It would be nice and pleasant and lovely if he had a partner who agreed with him on the most fundamental aspect of his existence. There is nothing untrue about that statement. More important than eyes or ears or mouth or hands, more important than wings or haloes, more important than _heart,_ is the thing within the heart. God is Good, God is Good, and it's a belief and a fact and an opinion and a statement all wrapped up in one. God is Good, God is Good, God is Good, and an inch away, it becomes ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump, and it powers his entire being no matter what form it's in. How can he prefer to lie in the arms of a creature whose heart says- 

Aziraphale doesn't know. Crowley's never said. Does Crowley's heart say God is Bad? It's a ridiculous phrase. So untrue Aziraphale could go cross-eyed looking back and forth at either half and trying and failing to reconcile them without negation. Does Crowley's heart say God Simply Isn't? Is Crowley's entire being powered by Satan is Good? Does the phrase Satan Did Nothing Wrong form the bassline of the rhythm of Crowley's existence? 

(That could explain why Crowley walks like that.) 

Aziraphale can only be sure that Crowley's heart doesn't beat to the firm belief of God is Good, the way his own heart does, the way all angels' hearts do. And how can Aziraphale want to unite his corporation with a wicked creature whose heart won't beat the same way? 

Aziraphale is perhaps a bit confused, perhaps even trapped. Sex is a need, but sex is a luxury. Aziraphale is willing to contain himself, as far as actions go. He is willing to go an eternity without actually doing it. That would be easy. Going even a single week without _thinking_ about sex is very much beyond his power. He doesn't know if other angels deal with the same need, but the thing about sexuality is that it needs a target. 

The angel porn he writes is not very good. The characters are wholly fictional and bear no resemblance to any angels Aziraphale knows, least of all himself. He tries writing a bit of male with female before giving up the pretense and writing male with male. The settings are vague, the plots threadbare at best. 

He supposes that they may well be awful porn, because they do fail to arouse, but they are edible fruit, and they do banish the hunger. God does nothing bad to him for it. He cannot tell if God approves, per se, but at least there is no punishment. Aziraphale counts blessings generously. 

Eventually, inevitably, Crowley finds out. 

Aziraphale is a bit too careless. He does not close the window of the word processor nor of the file folder containing 58 more stories of the same kind of dreck, he merely minimizes them. He does not power his computer off, merely lets it enter screensaver mode as he goes to answer Crowley at the door. Crowley asks for a favor, and Aziraphale carelessly leaves to take care of it, without making Crowley leave first. So, of course, Crowley spends the entire time that Aziraphale is gone reading through most of Aziraphale's porn. 

Aziraphale comes back and sees Crowley slowly turn around in the computer chair. 

"... So. You miss Heaven?" Crowley asks weakly. 

Cowardice sinks into his heart yet again. Aziraphale knows, as soon as he hears the words, that he cannot possibly correct Crowley and tell him the truth. He lowers his head miserably into his hands and moans, "This is so embarrassing." 

"I'm sorry," Crowley says, sounding far too sincere. "I shouldn't have... But I- I- This is pretty illuminating." 

Aziraphale just groans. 

"Not the best I've read, but hey, compared to trash like Fifty Shades of Grey-" 

"Don't even BRING that up-" 

"Sorry." Crowley turns his head to look at the open page again. Aziraphale wishes he wouldn't. "You're not bad," he says kindly. Aziraphale knows the demon is referring to the writing skill and the sexuality both. It doesn't really make him feel better. "I never would have guessed, at the subject matter, is all. But I mean, it's- it's all good. It's fine." He pauses. "Can I ask who it is?" 

Aziraphale squints. "What? I- I wrote them all myself." 

"No, not that. _Obviously_ you wrote them all yourself. I mean, who's the lucky angel? That you wrote all this for?" 

Aziraphale shifts slightly. He won't make eye contact. "I didn't write them _for_ anybody. I wrote them for myself." 

Crowley sighs, beginning to slip into frustration. "I _mean,_ who's your muse? Your crush? If you don't want to tell me, then just say so." 

Aziraphale had wanted options. Now he can choose any direction, so many lovely paths, no telling which will blow up in his face the fastest. 

"I'd rather not say," Aziraphale admits, buying time, feeling breathless and ashamed and nearly nauseous. Blue in the face, red in the face, and green in the face, all at once. 

Crowley nods, slightly disappointedly. "Can I ask, is it someone I know?" 

Aziraphale is sure he's on the brink of tears, as he blinks and stares at Crowley. He wants to tell Crowley that he will give no more hints or clues to his mystery crush's identity. Somehow, instead he bursts out, "You hate him but you really shouldn't because he's so amazing and kind and wonderful and handsome and _dashing_ -" Then he forces himself to stop. 

Crowley looks up at the angel coolly. "I dunno. I think I hate him even more now." 

Crowley has never been subtle about his feelings. This is simply the millionth love confession in different words. 

Aziraphale isn't sure how the demon can stand to keep making them. He's only made one, and without hope of being deciphered under the circumstances, and he wants to discorporate. 

"The worst part is," Aziraphale says, looking helplessly at Crowley's tense pose and white knuckles, "I really think you do."


	2. Chapter 2

How the Hell is he going to fix this. 

...

Aziraphale doesn't have much choice. 

Crowley thinks Aziraphale loves another angel. That simply isn't allowed. Aziraphale is personally responsible for allowing Crowley to jump to this conclusion, so Aziraphale needs to be the one to relieve him of that idea. 

The angel had been caught off guard. So, for a few days, he shores up confidence and courage. Then, oh, then. 

Crowley keeps his hands in his pockets as he saunters up to the park bench, and folds his arms when he sits down. 

"Yes, angel?" His tone is light and sweet enough. Aziraphale realizes Crowley isn't keeping distance out of anger or disgust. Crowley hasn't fallen out of love with him. The demon simply isn't sprawling all over him. Out of... possibly respect? 

"Crowley. I'm sorry. I must confess, I lied to you." 

The demon looks at him straight on. "About what?" he asks, eyebrows knit, looking so concerned. 

"About the, erm, the things you read." 

Crowley needs a second. "Ah, all your porn, you mean?" 

"Yes, those. Crowley, listen. I'm terribly sorry... I didn't, ah, have a muse, exactly." 

The demon is only confused. "What do you mean, you didn't have a muse?" 

"Well, I simply... They were uninspired." He pauses. "Surely you noticed...?" 

Crowley frowns harder. "I wouldn't be that harsh. I mean, I wouldn't call them uninspired." 

"Trust me, they were. Perhaps you could say they were the very opposite." 

Crowley is adrift here, with the revelation looming above him like a dark cloud. "What is that supposed to mean." 

"I mean. Perhaps you could say that rather than following my muse, I turned my back and tried to look anywhere else?" He is making no sense, he is making more sense than he has ever made before. "Perhaps I tried to make my _muse_ follow _me,_ and perhaps I tried to, in fact, make my muse _not_ follow me. Perhaps I tried to shake him off? Perhaps I tried to run from him? Out of fear, or- or-" 

"Sounds like it's not the first time," Crowley says, razor-sharp, and if it's meant to hurt him, Aziraphale can only forgive. 

"It's not," Aziraphale agrees miserably. "I, erm. I wanted to apologize. I lied to you. I've been lying to you. In all honesty, I don't want those things. I wrote them, by looking away from what I want. I don't have a crush on an angel." He pauses. He speaks tenderly, dreamily, wistfully. "It'd probably be a lot easier if I did. Easier, and safer. Even if it were an Archangel. I still wouldn't be able to have them, but at least everyone would think my feelings were _cute_ instead of deviant and disgusting and nauseating." 

"If you had a crush on an Archangel, I'd be pretty nauseated, you know. I don't think _I_ would have found it cute at all." 

"Yes, but..." Aziraphale sighs. There is no nice way to explain the worth of a demon's opinion in Heaven. "I am, more or less, along the very bottom of Heaven. The best I can hope for is that the worst they can say of me is that I'm _adorable._ " He paused, to parse his own sentence. "If I loved another angel, I might be able to have them. If the angel I loved were an Archangel, we definitely could not be together, but I'd still not be hated or called a traitor. I still would be deemed merely adorable. Other angels would smile condescendingly, full of pity. That is a great step up from... well, the truth." 

Crowley leans forward. "Because you don't love an angel. You love the opposite." 

Aziraphale looks deeply, longingly into Crowley's eyes. "That's right." He takes a deep breath and looks away. "And that's someone I can't have." 

"Are you sure?" 

Aziraphale grips Crowley's hand firmly. "When one _can't,_ one _gives up._ " 

"Holding my hand doesn't look to me like giving up." 

Aziraphale really, really looks at their hands, clasped together. He faces front, looking at the water without seeing it. "Crowley?" he whispers. 

"Yes, angel?" the demon whispers back. 

"Can we please just hold hands in the park, today?" The principality won't look back at his companion, and hears no answer. "I know you want us to hop in the car and go 125 miles per hour until we're so alone that they'll never find us. That doesn't sound so good to me. I know you'd like to take us out to the furthest reaches of space and have lots of sex. I _think I see a flaw in that plan._ "

"But you don't see the flaw in the plan of writing porn with your bosses who you don't even like." 

Aziraphale sighs. "We see the flaws in each other's plans. That's a good sign for a partner, isn't it?" He sags against the body beside him. "No matter what, the most extreme fantasy I'm willing to act out today, is holding hands in the park. Please. Can we?" 

Crowley is silent. He squeezes Aziraphale's hand in his grip. When he speaks, he says, "I think at this point we're practically canoodling." 

Aziraphale rubs his cheek against Crowley's shoulder. "The constable will bring us in for public indecency before Heaven has a chance to lift a finger." 

Neither of them say anything more for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...You think I'm _dashing,_ " Crowley eventually blurts out, turning quite red.


End file.
